


The Price of Leverage

by hintofsanity



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Gen, challenge: Blue Christmeth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 23:27:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5685667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hintofsanity/pseuds/hintofsanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesse endures a new level of awkwardness: a prison sentence at the Schrader house. (set during s5 around the days when Jesse is held in confinement at Hank and Marie’s house.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Price of Leverage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Salon_Kitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salon_Kitty/gifts).



**“** _Jesse. Listen, uh, obviously you changed your mind here, so thank you for that, and I know you’re angry, but I want to fix this, okay? Whatever it takes. We’ll talk, and we will fix this. Until then, just sleep it off, and then call me. Be safe.”_

 

Hank sets the phone down lightly, a bit dumbfounded. He knew that Walt and Jesse were in some sort of business relationship, but this sounds more like he’s trying to fix a broken friendship from grade-school. The discovery of just how sly his brother-in-law is led him to sacrifice his own home to the scumbag sleeping down the hall, but until about thirty seconds ago, there were very limited options of how he could actually use him to his advantage. Now he pulls out his own phone and dials an all-too-familiar number.

“Gomie, I’ve got something that you’re not gonna believe. Get your ass over here.”  

It seems like hours before his partner pulls into the driveway.

“Well, what’s the big surprise?”

Instead of talking, Hank leads him to the room with Jesse and silently presents him to Gomez, just as he had with Marie. Eyes wide, he whispers,

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah,” is all he can reply as he closes the door and the two walk into the living room. A silence settles over them, neither quite sure where to begin, until Gomez says,

“So what’s the plan? Surely you’re not going to let _that,”_ he gestures pointedly towards Jesse, “stay in your house for more than a minute.”

Hank rubs his forehead, still getting used to the idea himself, and explains that Jesse will be safest here, at least until they can get a better grip on the situation. It’s a small price he’ll pay if it means finally ending this strung-out war.

“So, what, we just get this kid’s whole song and dance and then throw him away? I don’t see how it can be that simple.”

“Yeah, well listen to this,” Hank says, pulling up Walt’s voicemail. “What does that sound like to you?”

“Like a load of shit.”

“Not entirely. Seems to me like Walt cares a lot more than we think about his little partner here, so I say that we let Pinkman talk, and see just how deep this little romance runs. Maybe then we can scrounge something up.”

Gomez nods thoughtfully from across the room and leans back in his chair. All they can do now is wait until Jesse wakes up.

“Uh, I don’t think he’ll be up for a while,” Hank says, “he was pretty keyed-up, so I gave him a few sleeping pills. Probably won’t be up until late tomorrow. Why don’t you come back in the morning with some cameras and equipment, and we can get this show on the road.”

“Sounds good to me,” Gomez replies with a groan as he heaves himself from the purple armchair.

“Don’t throw out a hip grandpa,” Hank chuckles.

“Yeah yeah, see you tomorrow. Take it easy buddy.”

As soon as the door shuts, a cellphone rings. It’s not Hank’s.

 

_“Jesse. I’m going to be at Civic Plaza tomorrow at noon. I hope you’ll give me the chance to explain myself, talk through everything once and for all. I’ll be alone and unarmed, so if you want to come and shoot me in the head, that’s up to you. Either way, I’m in your hands.”_

 

“Holy shit.” This changes everything.

For the majority of the night, Hank dwells in the kitchen, constantly throwing ideas into the air. None of them are landing firmly, and he’s becoming frustrated. He’s holding a plate over the sink; he must have washed the same one at least five times. Scrub, rinse, repeat. It’s the same thing he’s doing with this situation. His gaze shifts to the hallway and his mind clicks: Pinkman is the key. Despite their previous endeavors, he needs Jesse to come through for him.

In a way, he begins to feel bad for the kid; Walt has been so destructive of his family, Hank can’t begin to imagine how he must have treated Jesse. He wonders what finally made Pinkman snap.  

His head is swimming as he moves toward his bedroom, flipping through some of the old Heisenberg files to help calm his nerves. It’s not that he’s nervous to talk to Jesse; he’s questioned thousands of dirtbags in his career. It’s the fact that he’s so close to ending this case that he doesn’t want to mess it up now. Any little slip-up could be fatal. He lays back on the bed and stares at the ceiling. The reality that his own family could be so screwed up is still tender, so he tries not to probe his mind further. He just lies there, staring, listening to his own breathing.

Minutes pass like this before Hank finally decides to get up. He paces through the hallways a bit before stopping in front the the guest bedroom. Quietly, he opens the door just enough to peek inside and hear the light breathing of the figure sprawled across the bed. He closes the door. It’s silly, and maybe it’s just his parental instincts, but just because Jesse and him have some bad history doesn’t mean he wants him accidentally dying in his own home.

It’s a stupid thought, Hank concludes, as he walks slowly through the house again. Marie is watching some show he doesn’t recognize, but he plops down next to her anyways. A long silence envelops them, until Marie slips her fingers gingerly in between Hank’s.

 

 * * * 

 

When he wakes up, Jesse can’t remember where he is or how he got there. His eyes adjust on a picture across the room just as everything comes flooding back. His first feeling is that of rage, but he’s tired. Tired of fighting, tired of running, tired of being Jesse Pinkman. Anger is his first emotion, but it dissolves into sadness. It’s not the crying sort of sadness, though, it’s more of a numbness. The feeling is something he’s rather used to these days. He forces himself off of the bed and crosses the room to where the picture sits. It’s Mr. White as Santa. A pang of sadness hits him; how did things get so fucked up?

He doesn’t want to, but he knows eventually he’ll have to leave the room. Whatever waits for him on the other side is probably something he’s not looking forward to, but he’s hungry and has no idea what time it is.

As he edges himself away from his temporary sanctuary, Marie walks by and sees him.

_Shit._

“Would you like some coffee?”

Jesse nods, not really sure what to say at the offer. When she turns the corner, he continues to venture out into the living room. He’s greeted with a camera and two very familiar DEA agents.

The interview that takes place next passes in a blur of emotions. At the start, he didn’t want to cry, it just sort of happened. He’s been bottling up his emotions too much lately, and the setting just sucked it out from him. At one point Gomez catches his eye as a tear streams down his face, and he looks almost sympathetic. Almost. He still carries that air of superiority, but it definitely seemed like there could have been a hint of empathy. Finally, Jesse leans back in the sofa, defeated. Who knew that spilling  your whole life story could be so draining. It must show easily on his face, because Hank says,

“Alright, good job today. We can take a break now. You just, uh, sit tight there. Take a breather.”

Hank and Gomez exit to the balcony, leaving Jesse alone to mull over his thoughts.

“What do we do now?” Gomez asks.

 

Dinner that night is awkward as hell. Jesse remembers the fateful night at the White’s house, and cringes. At least Marie, who sits adjacent to Jesse, isn’t spilling the details about any affairs she could be having. She’s quiet for the most part, asking a few general questions here and there about their plan for tomorrow.

Hank, sitting across from Jesse, continues to eye him suspiciously through his meal, as if he could somehow turn the lasagna on his plate into meth. It only seemed right to invite him to sit at the table, as long as he was staying with them for these next few days. After a while, however, Hank gives up the act. It dawns on him that It’s pointless, really, because this kid has nothing to lose. Everything Pinkman told the camera leads him to believe that the only person who really did care about him was Walt, no matter how fucked up that seems. He does conclude, however, that either himself or Gomez should be in the house at all times, just in case.

 

In the guest room, Jesse lays on his side atop the bed. The moon shining from the window suggests that it might be around midnight, but he has no real way of telling without a clock. He should be tired; his body sure is. His mind, however, continues to buzz with thoughts of the day. Hank had told him that their best bet would be to give Mr. White what he wants. Jesse was rather emotionless during the moment, but now he has mixed feelings. He’s part scared and part angry, because the last thing he wants is to give in to Mr. White’s plan. After all, it’s probably just another ploy, and all Jesse wants is to see him rot behind bars.

 _He saved you._ The thought is alarming, because it’s true. Who knows where he would’ve ended up if Mr. White hadn’t confronted him that fateful day? Guilt washes over him; he shouldn’t be feeling bad for Mr. White, he should be feeling bad for himself. Still, the thought nags him.

 _This is no use_ , he thinks, and rolls near the edge of the bed. He wishes Hank would give him some more of those sleeping pills from yesterday, even if they did make his head feel a bit swampy. At this point, anything would be better than being consumed by his thoughts. Quietly, he creeps towards the door and turns the handle gingerly. The house is silent, and he continues towards the kitchen, hoping to find someone still awake. A light flickering in the room over catches his attention. Hank is sitting with his back turned in a large purple recliner, studying a stack of papers. Jesse clears his throat, and he whips his head around, startled.

“Oh, it’s you.”

Jesse looks down, fiddling with the edge of his shirt. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just wondering if I could maybe, uh, get some more of that stuff from the other day?”

For a second, Hank simply stares at him, but his gaze softens to a slightly more knowing expression. “Sure. Wait here.” He leaves the room, and when he returns, he has a bottle of pills and a glass of water. “Just one should do it,” he says, handing Jesse the items.

When he’s finished, Jesse mutters a “thanks,” and returns to his room. He’s certain that they aren’t working until he slowly drifts off into black.

 

Hank watches Jesse walk down the hall, and when he hears the door shut lightly he swallows down three pills.

 

* * * 

 

After Jesse bales on their original plan, Hank is furious. Any respect he gained after hearing the junkie pour his heart was thrown out the window as soon as he saw the punk pick up the payphone.

“ _Next time, I’m gonna get you where you_ really _live.”_  

The words still ring in his ears, and any meaning behind them is mostly lost on Hank. This was exactly what he didn’t want to happen. For all he knows, that could have been their only chance to get close to Walt, and that little punk just blew it.

 

At dinner, Jesse and Marie sit across from each other. They don’t talk, only eat the leftover lasagna.

 _How much lasagna can one person make_ , Jesse wonders as he continues to shovel some into his mouth. “So, uh,” he clears his throat, “where’s Hank?”

“Probably off in his room,” Marie replies shortly, dragging her fork carelessly across her plate.

Jesse steals a few glances at Marie in between bites and notices the large black circles underneath her eyes; they appear a bit purple in the dying light. It’s funny, considering the rest of the purple the house is drowning in. If only he wasn’t trapped in the cause of them.

“It’s getting late,” Marie says, interrupting his thoughts. She acts like she wants to say something more, maybe something along the lines of “I’m ready to be done with this whole mess, want to grab a beer?” or “sorry about the lack of conversation, I’m still getting used to the fact that I’m making dinner for a criminal.” Instead she says nothing.

“I’ll just…” he trails off, gesturing down the hall.

Blinking like she’s coming out of a trance, Marie nods with a terse smile. “Okay, goodnight.”

 

The scraping of Jesse’s chair is the only sound after her reply, and Marie is once again left in silence. She continues to stare blankly down at the table well after she hears the light thud of the door closing, desperately wishing for a distraction from this whole mess. No, what she really needs is a solution. Trailing through the halls to where their computer resides, she feels at least twenty years older. Hank continues to busy himself with who-knows-what in his bedroom, so she shouldn’t be interrupted. But hell, these days Hank has been so distant that it would almost be a relief to be interrupted.

She clicks on the first bookmark and a page titled “Untraceable Poisons” opens. The words are familiar from days of staring at this exact screen, just imagining the possibilities of how she could slip it to the man tearing apart this family. There have been days when she pictured herself taking some, but in the end she decided that it would be much more satisfying to see the light leaving Walter’s eyes and not her own. Of course she wouldn’t dare go through with any of it, but it would feel so good. _God,_ it would feel so good; ridding this filth from her life and being able to rekindle the relationships with her family that she longs for. She closes the tab, embarrassed for even thinking like this, and puts her head in her hands. A long sigh escapes and she whispers,

“Why me?”   

 

It’s still rather early as Jesse lies on the bed, arms crossed, staring at the ceiling.

_What the hell am I even doing here?_

He can practically feel the boredom eating away at him. Normally he’d be doing anything to keep his mind busy, but tapping a rhythm or singing a tune seem too obnoxious for his predicament.

“Who cares what they think, a few beats never killed anyone,” is something Jane would tell him if she were here.

_Jane._

There’s someone Jesse hasn’t thought about in a while. It’s not that he forgot about her, it’s more like she just happened to resurface again, since she never really leaves the back of his mind. A tear slides down his cheek, and he quickly mashes it away with the heel of his hand. He doesn’t want to start crying now, because there’s nothing left to grieve over. It’s no use though, because the tears continue despite their lack of purpose. Jesse just lays there, feeling rather pathetic, but he doesn’t take any action to quell his feelings.

 

Hank can’t sleep. It’s nothing new, these recent nights have left him feeling anything but well-rested. Despite the sun just barely setting, he had went to bed early so he could wake up energized, ready to execute the new plan. When Jesse told him his idea about Walt’s money, of course he was skeptical. Why should he trust the punk, he’s never done anything to benefit him in the past. Jesse was persistent though, and the more Hank thought about it, the better the plan seemed. After all, Jesse knows Walt better than anyone, and had first hand experience of all his manipulation. He sighs, the common response to everything these days, and starts to make his way towards Jesse’s room. Maybe he’s not thinking straight, but Hank decides that this new plan calls for a celebration.

 

A knock at the door startles Jesse from his thoughts. His back is turned, and he rolls over to see Hank standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“Uh, sorry, I didn’t think you would be asleep.”

“I wasn’t.”

Hank notices the redness in Jesse’s eyes. Was he crying? “Just thought you might be a bit bored in here.”

“I’m not.” The reply comes out colder than he intends.

Hank softens his tone. “Jesse, just follow me. It’s nothing bad or anything,” he coaxes, gesturing his hand in the direction of the garage.  

After staring numbly at Hank, Jesse heaves himself off the bed and follows him outside. He has no idea what to expect. More interrogating? Sending him to prison right then and there? When they finally stop, Jesse is more than confused. In front of them are many rows of dark bottles, all with a distinctive label. At closer examination, the word “Schraderbrau” is scrawled across each.

“Uh, what are we…”

“I figured we deserve a reward. A little celebration of sorts.” Hank takes the nearest bottles and pops the tops.

“Thanks?” Jesse says dumbly, taking a bottle from him. He holds it in his hand, feeling the cool glass against his palm.  

This is not the same punk kid Hank met all that time ago. The person standing in front of him has seen more, done more. That kid would have replied with some retort, anything to rile him up. The person here just seems numb.

“What, it’s just beer, not like it’s going to kill you or anything,” Hank chuckles, trying to lighten the mood. He holds his own bottle outward. “This is to your plan. To leverage in catching that son of a bitch. To relief.”  

Jesse doesn’t respond at first, perhaps out of skepticism of the whole situation.”To relief,” he replies at last, and they drink.

 

* * *

 

That morning, everyone is tense. Hank hardly exchanges any words with Gomez, and Jesse stands off to the side, trying not to get into anyone’s way. Marie had offered him some coffee again, a mundane gesture in a world of chaos. Jesse had accepted the offer graciously. The two agents prepared all morning, mostly setting up for the fake picture. All outcomes needed to be accounted for, despite Jesse’s insistence that this was going to work.

Jesse wrings his hands together, leaning back against the bookshelf behind him. It’s not that he’s scared about the plan, because he knows that greedy bastard will come running at the slightest mention of his money. It’s the aftermath. What’s going to happen to him? He can’t go home, that’s for sure. Hell, there’s probably a cozy prison cell waiting for him and a jumpsuit with his name on it. He takes a deep breath and holds it in for a few seconds, trying to relieve the tightness he feels in his chest. Things will never be the same, and Jesse knows that.

 _How did it all start? When did it all go to shit?_ These thoughts run through his head, trying to pick a specific moment of his life to blame it on, but he realizes that it’s more of a chain of events and bad decisions that have brought him here. Did it start back in high school when he had his first drink at 16, or was it around the time he had his first smoke with Badger and Skinny? It’s all a blur.

“Alright everyone, it’s go time,” states Gomez.

Hank, Jesse, and Gomez all slowly make their way to the cars outside. Hank kisses Marie lightly. Gomez climbs into one car, Hank and Jesse in the other. They all know that things are about to get heated.

“You wanna do the honors?” Hank asks, offering Jesse the phone.  

He carefully takes it from him, as if it was a bomb ready to detonate. They both take a deep breath. Jesse  presses send, and a bomb is exactly what his heart feels like beating in his chest.

Hank starts the car; it shouldn’t be long now. When the phone rings in Jesse’s hand, the two meet each other’s eyes. It’s the same expression plastered on both faces: determination. Hank nods, and they drive.


End file.
